


You are the Point of Love

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Streaks of Color [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marco in Crop Tops once again, Sorry Not Sorry, Star Wars References, The X-Files References, also no i could not stop myself from making marco like xfiles, but jean loves him, grossly in love, marco is a big nerd, no before you ask its not a lot, or all my nerdy tv shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco has a thirst for adventure and Jean somehow has to get dragged along with him just because "he's his boyfriend" and "he loves Marco" and all that other stuff. Thankfully, there's a nearby playground that's perfect for just the two of them and all the cheese they can come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the Point of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I went for a walk a couple weeks back and started this, and then I didn't head to bed early enough to not see the sun rise and I really can't believe that's what inspired me to finish it. A sunrise. (First almost-love confessions from books, now sunrises? God, who even am I anymore?)
> 
> So this might be a little less than what I normally produce and it's definitely cheesier, but it was fun writing them as modern day teens. What jerks, lmao.
> 
>  
> 
> [Music.](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=QiWJZySUs10#The_National_-_Heavenfaced_\(HD\)_w%2F_Lyrics)
> 
> EDIT: fixed some grammar, added link at the bottom to where this fic can be reblogged

                When he was a kid and watching all those coming of age or teen romance movies, Jean always assumed he would be the one with the burning curiosity to see the outside world, with the restless urge to leave the house at two at the morning. The simple truth was that curiosity and wanderlust were traits in most people, but they were things that tended to die down in many as they grew older, as they fell into rhythms and patterns, content with what they knew unless something changed that. Jean turned out to be one of those many people, but he never really questioned it, or even mourned the less heightened desire. His house was warm and consistent. He didn’t need to change that just to satisfy some drive he didn’t have.

 

                Marco was not one of those people.

 

                “Question everything,” he would say and then, before Jean could stop him or really do anything but groan, continue with, “Trust no one.”

 

                He had a lot of odd habits, too, but they didn’t bother Jean, typically. Sure, it was strange to see him cut his nails with scissors because he didn’t want to go hunt for the clippers, or how he would always tilt the camera up before he settled in front of a computer, but only the first few times. After that, Jean learned to keep a piece of electrical tape over his lens unless he was using it for a video call or something, and that it was nice to know where the clippers were all the time, especially when Marco mentioned that his nails were getting long again.

 

                No, what _did_ bother him was when Marco would have the sudden need to be out and doing something. Usually it was alright because he would show up by Jean’s window (his second story one that Jean still didn’t know how he got up to) with coffee or fast food, occasionally with a handful of flowers from the forests that out-skirted the city. Those times, Jean was fine with letting him in and chatting, before Marco would duck out with the trash if there was any, and act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before. And for him, nothing had. However, it was when he wanted _Jean_ to leave as well that things didn’t go as smoothly.

 

                The requests only continued to tread downhill when they started dating and Marco would want his midnight dates with moonlit kisses and just to show Jean simple sights with the claim that they made him think of his boyfriend, or that they were in some way romantic. It was stupid, because he would be so tired in the morning, but he would feel so happy and satisfied and just _loved_ – even before he saw the giddy smile Marco would have for him the next day.

 

                So, really, even if the phone call surprised him, the contents of it shouldn’t have when he checked the time.

 

                “Not a chance, Marco,” he had said in reply to the suggestion of heading out to the park. “It’s already past eight and it’s going to be dark outside soon.” Seriously. This was one of the few things that Jean had to be the responsible one about. Usually, it was the other way around.

 

                He had ended the call after his second _no_ and hadn’t even put his phone on his desk when it buzzed at him, notifying him that he had gotten a text. Despite the rolling of his eyes because he knew who it was, he still opened it.

 

 

> **[Monday 8:36pm]**
> 
> **My Marshmallow:** Were gonna have issues then
> 
> Because like
> 
> Im outside your house

 

              He had stared at the words on the screen until his phone had locked itself automatically before shaking his head and shoving it into his pocket as he stood. Muttering under his breath, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his desk chair and when his phone buzzed against his thigh, he grabbed a second one, and made for the back door. Thank god his mother had one of her late shifts that night.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco didn’t even have to get out of his car. He had started to, but Jean was already scrambling inside by the time he was halfway out of his door, sitting on his hands and buckling in. Marco watched with raised eyebrows as he checked to make sure the heat was up and that his seat warmer was on, as Marco made sure it always was for Jean, before he turned to the driver and gave him a dissatisfied look.

 

                “Before you say anything,” Marco started, leaning back into the car and yanking the door shut behind him. “That phone call was your ‘warning’.” He bit his lip around a smile and glanced up at the mirror, watching Jean’s unhappy (and likely not intended to be so distracting) pout become more pronounceable.

 

                With a snort through his nose, Jean looked out the window, watching his house and his neighbors’ slowly disappear behind them. “You need to stop thinking you’re some kind of sexy FBI agent who can whisk me off to do only god knows what at only god knows when.”

 

                Marco cooed at that, reaching over to squeeze at Jean’s thigh, “Babe, you think I’m sexy?”

 

                Doing his best to look as dramatic as he could, Jean leaned against the window and sighed, even if he knew Marco would only really get but a few glances in at him until they got there. Damn Marco and his silly TV shows. With him “Netflix and chill” was actually watching things and taking in just what characters Marco decided he wanted to channel into his personality that week, or reference them with a quote, rather than any hands down pants action, disappointingly.

 

                (Though not always that disappointingly – his boyfriend did have good taste.)

 

                The drive wasn’t that long, only about a minute or so, to the school just up the road. Marco kept his hand on Jean’s leg throughout the ride and it gave Jean enough time to question just what about the park made Marco want to slip into it tonight.

 

                Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he turned to face Marco, who was pulling into one of the many open parking spots, a place as close the playground as he could get. “So,” he started with a hum, and Marco hummed back in reply for him to keep going. “What are we doing here? Are we going to kiss under the slide?”

 

                To his surprise, Marco had turned to him with eyes bright, not just from the outdoor school lamplight. “Do you want to?”

 

                Only rolling his eyes in reply, Jean kept his smile under wraps until he was out of the car and walking around the to the other side. He tossed his extra jacket at Marco as he pulled on his own, watching as Marco only frowned down at it. He was going to need it – though he could sometimes be a real teddy bear with how cuddly and warm he was, he was only in a crop top and it wasn’t even summer yet. It was chilly.

 

                Jean glanced at the top Marco was wearing, eyebrows furrowing at the fact that on it was a _pineapple_ with _sunglasses_ and a _gun_ , until he read the green text beside it.

 

                _Fake Psychic. Real Detectives._

 

                Ah. So it would still seem that Marco was also into his nerdier shows, as per usual.

 

                “Put it on.”

 

                When Marco only pursed his lips, dangling it in front of him like it was some kind of dead animal a pet had brought him, Jean added, more firmly than before, “It’ll get cold.”

 

                “Then I’ll use you and your cuddles to warm me up,” Marco crooned, tongue flicking over his bottom lip like it did when he thought he was being exceptionally erotic. Jean rolled his eyes, but Marco kept going. “Plus, I know you love it when I put my hands up your shirt and then-”

 

                Jean turned around at that, stalking towards the playground. He didn’t really want to listen to wherever that was going.

 

                And they were _definitely_ not going to fuck on a _children’s_ playground – no matter what Marco tried to say to talk him into it.

 

                Heading for the swings, his always favorite place, even as a kid, he listened to the slamming of the car door where Marco was probably throwing the jacket back in, before the sound of his footsteps on the asphalt behind him drowned out the small, almost crinkling noises of the engine still dying down. He could hear the uneven thumps next, of Marco jogging to catch up, but Jean was already grasping a seat in his hand and pushing it with enough force to loop around the top, by the time his feet were landing on mulch instead. When he started to adjust his own seat, next to Jean, to whatever height he wanted, himself, Jean had settled into a soft rocking with barely any movement on his own as he watched.

 

                “So, what’d you want us to do out here, anyway?” He asked again once Marco finally got his swing to a comfortable height for his legs and started pushing off the ground. As he waited for his reply, he unlocked his phone and started up some music to play at a low hum for them, before dropping it back into his jacket pocket, letting it lock on its own.

 

                Moving faster and higher than Jean himself, Marco turned his head to send him a grin. “What? Haven’t you ever heard of teenagers hanging out in the park after dark?”

 

                Jean was thankful that he didn’t point out how that rhymed. “Yes, but I’ve also heard about teenagers breaking in to smoke in their least favorite teacher’s classrooms and accidentally setting fields on fire with their illegal fireworks.”

 

                Shrugging like he knew it was true and had nothing to say to that (nothing that he _felt like_ saying that is – Marco always had something to say), he slowed his swing down, letting his feet skid harshly against the padding beneath him. Once he was at a full break, he looked over again and reached out to wrap around Jean’s swing’s chain so he could pull him closer and wrap his leg around Jean’s own. “Wanna go make out under the slide?”

 

                With a snort, Jean hung his head and stared down at their legs, at the way Marco’s foot was insistently rubbing against his ankle. “I love you,” he said instead of answering, hand sliding down on the chain to rest above where Marco’s was, pinky brushing against Marco’s pointer.

 

                Sometimes, like moments right then, it struck him how true the statement was. He had declared it like his mother sometimes would; with an amused air, after he had said or done something stupid or silly. It was, to him, a sign that he was comfortable, both in saying it, and just with Marco, being alone with him, in general.

 

                But it was more than just a familial thing, if the slight uptick in the rhythm of the pounding in his chest was anything to go by.

 

                “I know.”

 

                Glancing over lazily, Jean gave him a sour look. “Don’t give me that Han and Leia bullshit. Say it back.”

 

                He got a chuckle from that, and a jerk of his swing, pulling him closer to Marco for a moment before the swing pushed off into the other direction again, attempting to carry Marco with Jean and itself, because of their little link. It was like those swinging pendulums that sat on any typical Science teacher’s desk, but Marco was heavier and they started from the middle, so he didn’t get far, before his swing was pulled back to crash against Marco’s side.

 

                Then, when Marco’s grip steadied his swing, he leaned over and also got a, “I love you, too,” breathed from Marco’s lips, right against his own.

 

                He closed his eyes and contented himself with just pressing his lips and moving them, ghosting, really, over Marco’s own, not really pressing into the kiss for a few seconds. When he pulled back, fluttering them open, he only stared back at Marco’s own, whose cracked open just after his did.

 

                Then, Marco ruined it.

 

                “I call this,” as he breathed out, he purposefully did so out of his mouth so the air brushed over Jean’s own, and Jean’s eyes dipped down to look at Marco’s parted lips as he spoke his next words. “Really close talking.”

 

                It took Jean a few seconds to get his mind to transition from “Marco’s lips are within kissing range” to understanding where that was from, but when he did, he leaned back from Marco’s face and squinted at him. He didn’t have to voice his displeasure, it was apparently obvious on his face, since it brought out another laugh from Marco while he returned back to his own swing.

 

                He then went on to talk about how he didn’t know if Jean was going to remember it, since it was indeed, from a long time ago. That he had even forgotten about it until it randomly popped into his head when he was saying his “I love you” back, even if it had been one of his favorite scenes. There were just too many good scenes with the two of them, Marco decided in the end, and so many were his favorites, that it just got lost in the mix.

 

                As the conversation continued to take its turns and jump from this to that to avoid a lull, Marco began to swing higher again, but not as high as before, so he could continue talking casually. Jean sat still, watching Marco, but still kept his parts of the conversation equal, just as heavy, just as involved. When there were the slight pauses, the moments of quiet, they didn’t last long, but they were fine. They weren’t any better, any worse, than the talking parts, they just _were_. Sometimes Marco would then suddenly talk about something else, always able to spark another conversation, always having something to listen to, and sometimes Jean would poke, prod, ask about something that Marco had been talking about before, when he had made a jump to something else, too excited (even if the conversation was just chatter, daily stuff, Marco still made it fun) to keep to one topic.

 

                One time, he had reached over, putting his hand in front of Marco’s face, and told him to sniff, without giving him any reason why. And it was kind of silly, but that obvious trust, that immediate willingness, the fact that Marco just _did_ so, no questions asked, brought a bit of a tender tilt to his mouth before he had mumbled that the swing set was old: he could smell the metal on his hands, feel it even.

 

                And Marco had cleared the problem up (not that there was one, but) easily, by slipping his own, probably smelling of old metal, fingers between Jean’s own, saying that with enough use, it’ll go away. He’d slowed down again, just to hold Jean’s hand, and Jean acknowledged that by wrapping his foot around Marco’s leg and tilting his head over to whisper, “Wanna go make out under the slide?”

 

                Unsurprisingly, Marco gave him a grin turned sly and squeezed his hand to go along with the words, “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Here is a link](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/145196828473/i-wrote-another-thing-about-the-au-where-marco) to when you can like/reblog it on tumblr.
> 
> what Marco is referncing on the swings is [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ay25uzRGdP0), and a shirt version of his crop top can be found [here](http://www.redbubble.com/people/kangaroozach41/works/15952433-psych-pineapple?body_color=asphalt&p=t-shirt&print_location=front&size=medium&style=mens&utm_source=google&utm_medium=google_products&utm_campaign=shopping&country_code=US&gclid=CKH1qqXogc0CFQ6oaQodk8kFmQ).
> 
>  
> 
> [my snk/writing blog](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> have a better day than I probably will!!


End file.
